


Christmas Carolklok

by AnotherCrazyFangirl



Series: 12 Days of Dethmas 2020 [7]
Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, It's a Christmas Carol, M/M, but y'know, metal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherCrazyFangirl/pseuds/AnotherCrazyFangirl
Summary: Charles Foster Offdensen had no time for Christmas or any of its frivolities. He was a man of business. There was more sense in counting money than worrying about his fellow man.Boy is he about to get a slap in the face.
Relationships: Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Original Female Character(s), Charles Foster Offdensen/Original Male Character(s)
Series: 12 Days of Dethmas 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055411
Kudos: 2





	Christmas Carolklok

**Author's Note:**

> Dec 18th: Crossover With Your Favorite Holiday Movie(s)
> 
> (It's not really Dethklok in Christmas Carol, it's more like elements of Christmas Carol in Dethklok)

Nathan Explosion and Skwisgaar Skwigelf were dead to begin with. 

It was a freak accident two years ago. The staging lights had crashed onto the band during their performance of Comet Song on Christmas Eve. They were supposed to help celebrate the opening of a new planetarium to commemorate a new star being found that resembled depictions of the Star that led the Three Wise Men to baby Christ. 

The band really didn't want to do it but were forced into it by Offdensen. The director had been willing to pay nearly triple their set price and he was not going to pass it up. 

And it led to a higher price than Charles anticipated. 

The vocalist and the lead guitarist of Dethklok were dead. Pickles, Toki and Murderface were held up in the hospital due to life threatening injuries. The three had been in comas for almost a year and a half. 

There was a chance he could lose the whole band and he absolutely hated it. 

The days since had been spent in the hospital, waiting impatiently for the band to wake up. He had conducted all of his business there. Klokateers came and went, knowing better than to stick around. The bitter manager had lashed out at more than one idle member of the team and word was going around about how the loss was making him cold and crass. 

Let them think that. 

\-------------------

He paced the length of the stark white hallways, the only bit of color outside of the bustling nurses' blue smocks. The survivors were taken back to emergency surgery, a complication that they hadn't seen. Charles scoffed quietly to himself. Imbeciles, the whole lot of them. 

"...Mr. Offdensen?" 

He looked up sharply from the floor. Abigail smiled weakly, eyes rimmed with red. She looked exhausted. She had been working overtime to keep Dethklok afloat without Charles' iron grip. "Hey." She said lamely. 

He didn't offer her his hand. "State your business, Ms. Remeltindtdrinc. Why are you not at the office?" 

She winced at his cold tone and rubbed her arm self-consciously. "I was having troubles focusing, especially when I heard that they had to take the band back to surgery." There was a moment of silence. "How are they?" 

"They have not returned and none of these damned nurses know what occurs." He shot a bypassing nurse a sharp look of disappointment, making the man scurry away quickly. He stared at her, indifference stiffening his features. "However, I believe I asked you to monitor the office in my absence." 

She winced again. "I-I know, Mr. Offdensen. But I was wor-" 

He barely contained his urge to roll his eyes and pulled out his cellphone. 8:45 PM. They had been in surgery for over an hour. "Ms. Remeltindtdrinc, I am sure that the band would appreciate your gesture if they were conscious. However, they are not and you are disobeying a direct order from myself." He flicked his eyes up at her, cold. "You are not paid to be so caring about the band, regardless of your relationship with Nathan." 

Abigail turned bright red, her hands clenching into tight fists. Her nails bit into her palms and she used the pain to keep herself grounded. That moment with Nathan had been a waver inside of her. It was an accumulation of months of isolation on that damn sub, her dead vibrator, the heat and a rising sexual need. "...Of course, Mr. Offdensen." She finally spat out from her tensed teeth as the man walked away from her to find another nurse to harass. 

Charles stormed to the nurses' station. Ms. Remeltindtdrinc had put him in a foul mood and the lack of nurses had worsen it. That woman was too sentimental, too driven by her own emotions. There was no room for such things when you worked for Dethklok. 

Much less when you worked with Dethklok. 

There was one nurse at the station, a blonde man. He had long hair tied back in a pony tail, a section of loose platinum blonde curls hiding his face. Charles hesitated before steeling his nerves and coughing politely. 

The nurse looked up at him and he was full of regret. Ice blue eyes clashed with emerald green, shock on both faces. "...Charles. What a...surprise seeing you here." The nurse, Akita, finally said when his tongue could move. 

Charles wished he could say the same. His heart had clogged his throat, not letting a word slip by his lips. 

There were better ways to run into your ex-fiancée and this certainly wasn't one of them. 

Akita cleared his throat, a light blush highlighting his cheeks as he shifted under Charles' shocked, open-mouthed stare. "I'll take it you're the one I was warned about?" 

Charles shut his mouth, the tips of his ears turning red. "...I was wondering if...well...." 

"The band?" Akita provided quietly, neither man making eye contact. Charles nodded stiffly to the floor. "I'll see what I can do." Akita left quickly, escaping the tense silence. 

Charles was weak in the knees and a strong breeze could probably topple him over. He hadn't seen Akita since...

No. He wasn't going down that path. Not right now. Not again. 

His phone rang, providing blissful escape from the tense atmosphere the meeting had left. He didn't even bother checking the caller ID. "Hello?" 

"Uncle Charles! Merry Christmas!" 

His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head. Not now. Not Kent. He pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses hiking up to his forehead. "What is it, Kent?" 

"Uncle, no need to sound so happy to hear me!" The boy sounded wry and Charles wanted to reach through the phone and strangle his cheery nephew. "Pop and I were wondering...you comin' home for Christmas this year? I-I've been wanting you to meet my wife Clara and our son for some years now and-" 

Charles cut him off immediately before he prattled on uselessly about the family he had built for himself. "I'm afraid not, dear nephew. I have no time." 

Kent scoffed loudly. "No time for family? Uncle, it's nearly Christmas! Aren't you your own boss? Just come home, Uncle Charles. Please. Even if it's for a few minutes. It will mean the world to Meemaw and-" 

Charles hung up. There was no point in listening to the younger man ramble. 

"Mr. Offdensen?" 

He turned back around, feeling dejected and relieved all at once. Akita had sent another nurse, a short round woman with black hair that had been teased to make her appear taller. "You were looking into the wellbeing of Pickles, William and Toki?" He nodded. "Well, good news." She smiled widely. "They're out of surgery and it looks pretty good for them. No further complications." 

There was something behind that tense smile. Charles could sense it. "And how much longer until they wake up?" 

Her smile fell at this. It was obvious she was hoping he wouldn't ask. "Well...the doctors don't know. It could be tomorrow or it could be a week from now, or even a year. No one can do anything more now." 

A cold rage spread its familiar fingers through his chest. "Then what am I paying for?" He hissed quietly, seeming taller than his 5'5" stature. 

The woman winced, taking a step back and holding her clipboard to her chest like a shield. "I-I-I beg your pardon?" She finally managed to squeak out. 

"I asked you what the hell am I paying for then?! They are supposed to receive top of the line care, not some pathetic excuse of healthcare!" He roared, stabbing her clipboard with a firm finger. 

"I-I-I..." 

"There is no room in this world for excuses, miss! If you are unable to help, then I will have them transferred to a better hospital where they will received top quality care! Your staff is full of nothing but incompetent, emptyheaded -" 

"Sir, that's quite enough." Akita stepped between him and the woman, using his taller frame to shield her. She cowered behind him, trembling like a leaf. Her eyes were wide and it seemed even her hair had deflated from his reprimanding. 

He swallowed roughly. He hadn't shouted in so many years and it was cathartic. He glared up at Akita and gathered his materials. "...Please arrange the paperwork to move Dethklok to another hospital, please. Sir." It came out like a sharp barb and he knew it hurt from the way Akita's eyes turned cold. It was...also cathartic. 

\---------------

He finally collapsed into his office chair, exhausted. His mind was still reeling. His ex, his boys, his family... there was too much to even think about. 

He reached over to the bourbon bottle he had on standby. He added a healthy drop of 5 Hour Energy into it to keep him going. He took a long swig, not stopping for air until he had finished the cup. 

He slouched into his chair and checked his phone. There was a round of seven missed phone calls. From his mother, Kent, his brother, even his stepfather. He rolled his eyes and powered down his phone. 

The office was colder now, making him shiver. He pulled his suit jacket tighter around his body. He rubbed his arms to get the blood flowing as the tips of his fingers started to feel numb. He cupped his hands and breathed on them, hoping the hot air would bring back some sensations. 

He got up when the temperature of the office plummeted further, his teeth chattering. He went to the thermostat and stopped. He stared at the thermostat and took off his glasses. He cleaned them and looked at it again. It read 75 degrees, the temperature he preferred to keep his office. But it felt closer to freezing. 

The longer he looked at the thermostat, the more it was starting to look like a person. He blinked as a face formed in front of him. "...Nathan?" He asked, barely above a whisper. Nathan's face, warped by the plastic casing, let out a death metal growl that sent Charles scuttling backwards. 

He reached blindly for a weapon, hand falling on his briefcase. He held it over his head only for Nathan's face to be gone. The thermostat informed him it was still only 75 degrees, the green number unwavering under his gaze. 

He let his briefcase fall and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. He hadn't slept. Too many energy drinks. He had been working too hard. He was glued to several screens and his eyes were strained. There were too many factors to count for the sudden hallucination of Nathan's face. 

He left the office, locking it behind him and stumbling to his barely used room. He was still shaking and slightly pale from the odd interaction. Maybe he should eat and get some sleep. His stomach rolled at the thought of eating so he opted for the bed. 

He unlocked the door to his bedroom and had to use his shoulder to push it in. Years of not being used had almost glued it shut. The stale air smacked him in the nose and he reached for his handkerchief, covering his nose. He opened the small window to air out the room and peeked outside. There were the Klokateers doing their usual rounds which pleased him. Although, the sudden appearance of wavy blonde hair made him do a double take. It had disappeared. 

He laid down in his bed and grimaced. The bedspread was dusty with the faint smell of fabric softener. He stripped it off, too tired to even bother grabbing a new blanket or a pillow. He took off his shoes and his suit jacket. His glasses sat on his nightstand. He used his suit jacket as a makeshift blanket to keep warm and let his eyes fall shut. 

He only had his eyes closed for a moment when he shot straight out of his bed, ears straining. He had heard something outside of the usual hum Mordhaus' air conditioning. The clink of chains dragging across the floor sounded again and he reached for his glasses then a weapon. 

The sound was coming closer to the door. He could barely hear it over the pounding of his heart. He steeled his nerves and threw the door open, blade leading first. There was nothing. He looked around, up and down the halls. They were (for once) empty. Not a Klokateer was in sight. 

He gulped. The quiet was wearing his nerves thin. He had fucking heard something and he wanted to know what it was. 

Another blast of cold air chilled him to the bone. He sighed and turned around to go close the window. He latched it shut and settled back onto his bed, grabbing his jacket. He set his glasses back down onto his nightstand and wrapped the jacket tightly around his torso. 

"Well, isn't this just a sad sight?" 

Charles shot out of bed again, glaring at the blurry pale blue figures in front of him. "Who are you?! How did you get in here?!" He demanded as he tried to stealthily grab his glasses. 

"Oh comes on, Offdensens. We amnest been deads for dat longs." 

Stealth be damned. 

He threw on his glasses and his eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat. Skwisgaar and Nathan levitated in front of him, long chains hanging off of both of them. The grayish blue chains dragged behind them. 

So that's where the noise had come from. 

They waited for him to say something. They were now an odd shade of blue, the same color a drowned man's lips were. Their eyes were pale, looking more like fish eyes that glowed slightly. 

He rubbed his eyes. This wasn't real. They weren't real!

"What do you want with me?" He finally asked, looking both at them and through them. 

"Much." The Nathan imposter told him, moving an arm to drag some of the chains closer. 

Charles hesitated. It sounded so similar to the vocalist. Especially the short burst of vocabulary. 

He swallowed roughly. "Who are you? The both of you?" 

Skwisgaar's imposter floated closer, his chains dragging. "Asks us who we ams in lifes." 

Charles took a step back, the back of his knee hitting the edge of his bed. The cramped room felt smaller with the two in it. "Alright then. Who were you?" He asked, pointing his sword towards Skwisgaar when he got too close. 

"In life, we were members of Dethklok. Nathan Explosion the vocalist." 

"Ands Skwisgaar Skwigelf de lead guitarists." 

Charles shook his head. "Nonsense! They've been dead for two years now!" 

Skwisgaar's faker looked almost sad. "Yous amnest believes us?" 

Charles slashed at him when he levitated too close, the blade cutting nothing but air as it phased through the chain. The hairs on the back of his neck were on end and he was crowded into a corner beside his bed. "Absolutely not! You aren't them!" 

"You doubt yourself, Offdensen?" Nathan's fake asked, tilting his head like a confused owl. 

"I don't. I'm clearly hallucinating." He rubbed his face with his free hand. "I haven't slept. That combined with the alcohol I just drank." It dawned on him and he regarded the two ghosts, more confident. "You two are nothing but hallucinations born from bourbon and Five Hour Energy and my body's need of sleep." 

Nathan let out an ear bleeding growl while Skwisgaar shrieked a banshee scream. Charles jumped onto his bed and bounded towards the door. It slammed shut with a pull of Skwisgaar's chains around the knob and he collided with the wood. His sword clattered uselessly against the floor. 

He rubbed his sore face and pressed himself against the wall as the two dreadful apparitions drew closer. "MAN OF THE WORLDLY MIND, DO YOU BELIEVE IN US OR NOT?!" Nathan roared, lifting himself closer to the ceiling to tower over Charles' frozen form. 

"NO!" Charles barked back, hand scrabbling for the knob. His skin turned freezing cold the moment he had touched Skwisgaar's chains and he let out a long hiss, rubbing the numb skin. "Spirits don't exist! It's ridiculous! The dead walking among the living! Preposterous!" 

Skwisgaar fixed him in place with a cold stare, Charles' mouth snapping shut. "Yous knows better than dats, Offdensens." Charles' eyes widened, lips pressed in a thin line. "Yous knows abouts de dead walking amongs de livings." 

Charles looked away. "...So be it. But why come to me?" 

Nathan floated closer and Charles wanted to scramble to retrieve his blade. "It is required of every person that the spirit within should walk abroad among the living." Nathan's cold was suffocating, leeching away any warmth Charles might have had. 

"Ands if dat spirits did poorlys in lifes, then they ams condemneds to dos so in deaths. It ams doomed to wander through the worlds to witnesses whats it cannots shares buts mights have shared in lifes." Skwisgaar explained sadly, transparent tears starting to roll down his long face. 

"Poorly? But I did everything I could for you five! You lived the life of kings!" 

Skwisgaar let out a mournful howl while Nathan thrashed his chains angrily. "These chains are our sins, Offdensen! These are the lives lost! Each link is a person, man, woman, child! We forged these chains by how we lived our lives!" Nathan crowded him again, their faces too close. "If you were to see the chains around you, you would see that they are longer than ours, heavier than anything you could ever imagine." He growled out softly. 

Charles blinked and looked at his body. "I see no chains. And...if they are so heavy, why do you levitate?" 

Skwisgaar moaned again. "Dey ams invisible in lifes. Ours ams heavy but nothing compared to yous." 

"Our spirits never walked among the people. They never wandered further than our production booth. It is too late for us, but there is a chance of redemption." 

Charles narrowed his eyes. "Redemption? What?" 

Skwisgaar shoved Nathan aside, now crowding Charles instead. "As parts of ours penanceses to moves ons tos a better deaths, we comes to warns yous." 

Charles glanced up at him, frowning. "Warn me? Of what?" 

Nathan moved Skwisgaar aside. "You still have the chance to be spared of our fate. You will be our key to rest in peace. Charles Foster Offdensen, you will be visited by three spirits. They will test your soul and see if there is any humanity in that cold heart."

"More visits? And this is supposed to be the grand redemption you spoke of? Isn't there another way?" He begged quietly upon deaf ears. 

"Expect de first spirits whens de time turns ones." Skwisgaar murmured quietly, placing his hand on their former manager's shoulder. The cold left him weak, his knees starting to tremble. 

"First spirit? Can't I take them all at once?" He pleaded again. 

"Listen well to what they say and pray that you will avoid this cruel fate." Nathan said in parting as the two apparitions vanished into thin air, leaving only that damned bitter cold behind. 

Charles picked up his sword with shaking hands, trying to quell his trembling. 

\-------------------

On unsteady feet, he swayed into his office, heading immediately for the heater. He opened the vent after cracking it as high as it would go. Holding his hands over the blast of warmth, he gently massaged the ache from his numb fingers. With the cold gone, he felt more like himself. He glanced over at his laptop then over to the clock on the wall. 

12:42. 

It left little time to prepare so he rushed as fast as he could. He forced himself to keep his hands steady. He had set traps by the windows and his office door, making sure they were all locked tight. He rigged alarms to be heard if anyone did manage to make it past the traps. His desk was against the door. He waited tense in the corner of the room, sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He looked up at the clock. 

1:00. 

He waited impatiently, eyes flicking around the room but always returning to the clock. Each second was agonizingly slow when finally 1:00 came and went. He relaxed his shoulders, chuckling to himself. "A visit from a spirit. How ridiculous." He hung the shield back onto the wall. 

"Ridiculous? My boy, I thought your mother taught you better than that." 

Charles jumped, whirling around with his sword in hand. It quickly fell from his limp grip. 

It couldn't be....

His father cocked an eyebrow, the spitting image of Charles himself. The only difference between the men were that his father had brown eyes and rounded glasses instead of Charles' square frames. 

"W-What... How... " Words were failing him as he flubbed like a fish out of water. 

His father hummed, pursing his lips to the side. "Perhaps this form is a bit too jarring." Before his eyes, his father transformed in a flash of bright light. Now Pickles stood in front of him, a bright smile as if he wasn't stuck in hospice. "How about this instead?" Pickles asked, his Wisconsin accent gone. 

Charles' eye twitched, the widest they had been all night. HIs jaw was thoroughly dropped on the floor. "What....who....how..." He stumbled over his words, rubbing his face. "I'm going mad." He finally decided, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Pickles let out an amused snort through his nose. "Mad? My coming was foretold to you." 

Charles stared at the man. "You are the spirit? The start of my supposed redemption?" 

The drummer nodded. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past." 

Charles shook his head. "No. You are an apparition, a hallucination. All these hours of worrying have worn me down. First I see my father and now a member of the band for the third time tonight." He started to pace as his mind reeled. 

"I was trying to find a form that would appeal to you." 

Charles let out a bark of humorless laughter. "Appeal to me? I'll have none of it!" He roared. 

Pickles only raised a pierced eyebrow. "Listen here, you stubborn bastard. I am attempting to see into that stone heart of yours and-" He bit his lip, shaking his head. "Perhaps I am going about this all wrong." He grabbed Charles' wrist in an iron grip. Charles tried to pull away to find it was futile. The Ghost of Christmas Past put one foot through the wall and Charles tried to escape again. 

"What are you doing?! I can't phase through walls!" He really didn't want to run into a solid surface again. 

Pickles smirked, laughing wildly. "With my touch, you will do more than phase through matter!" 

Charles shut his eyes tightly, holding his glasses in a white knuckled grip to protect them. The two walked straight through the wall and they were flying over the snowy terrain. He opened his eyes when he didn't feel the ground beneath him only to yelp in fear. "S-Spirit, where are you taking me?!" He yelled over the howling wind. 

Pickles laughed again. "I thought you were supposed to be a smart, savvy business man!" 

Charles scowled at him as the world started to fade around them in a burst of bright light. 

\--------------------

They landed in a snow pile and Charles was grateful he hadn't eaten. His stomach was positively reeling. He slumped into the snow, letting his eyes shut. "Spirit, where are we?" 

"Not so much where we are. The better question is when." 

Charles frowned at the answer, putting on his glasses. He froze in the snow. "My...my mother's house." He whispered. It was the right answer but at the same time it was not. His mother's house (at least the last time he visited...several years ago) was a fading shade of white, looking more gray due to years' of dirt. Not the immaculate white before him. The shutters had dangling, broken and chipped from an old storm. Here, they were standing tall with a fresh coat of baby blue paint. His mother's front door has a dull burgundy, not the bright cherry red in front of him. "Is this?" Could it?" He looked at the spirit. 

Pickles didn't reply to his half formed question. He helped him to his feet as the cherry red door flew open. Two boys jumped from the steps, sleds in hand. The older one had auburn hair that caught the glimmering winter sun, turning it blonde. His light brown eyes were lit with childhood mischief as he pulled a new green sled behind him. The younger was still trying to pull his blue beanie onto his brown hair with one hand, a new red sled in the other. "Hey, no fair Brian!" The younger whined as his glasses bounced with each step. 

Charles couldn't believe it. "That's....that's me. A-And Brian! Brian!" He shouted after his brother, trying to run after the boys. Pickles held out his hand to stop him. "They can neither see you nor hear you. We are observers of the past." Charles deflated slightly but watched his younger self catch up to his brother at the top of the hill that was only a few yards from his childhood home. 

"Come on, Charlie. You're so slow!" His brother groaned, waiting impatiently on his green sled. Charlie pouted. "You cheated." He accused, adjusting his sled before the two pushed off. They whooped as they practically flew down the snowy slope. 

The Ghost led him away from the boys as they ran up the hill again to fly once more. "We aren't only here for that." They stepped inside the house. Charles closed his eyes at the warmth. He could smell his mother's cooking. She made the best Christmas ham with cloves tucked into the cuts she would score into the flesh. They stepped into the kitchen and there she was. 

Suzanne Offdensen was a petite woman with full hips and a modest bust, the same auburn hair that Brian had and the green eyes he had inherited. She was fussing over a pan and he inhaled deeply. It was her gravy. She always made it silky smooth and so thick it would (and often did) weld mouths shut. She frowned at the simmering brown mass before lowering the heat. Christmas carols played on a small black radio she kept in the kitchen during the holidays. She hummed to some of the tunes as she flitted about the kitchen, opening the oven door to check the state of the ham. 

Someone walked right through the two of them and Charles gasped loudly. It was unpleasant. It was akin to a static shock that rippled through his whole body. 

His father stepped towards her, making her light up. "Wayne! It's not time yet." She tried to usher him out of the kitchen, laughing when he only pulled her tightly to his chest. "I'm allowed to be in my kitchen. I wish for a cup of my wife's spectacular eggnog." She turned pink, giggling like a schoolgirl while she pushed on his chest in mock protest. "Flattery won't get you an early taste of Christmas dinner." She chided lightly. Wayne chuckled, a sound that was usually reserved for his mother and her alone. He pressed his forehead to hers, an arm around her waist and his other hand cupping her cheek. 

Charles glanced away from the tender moment, choking on the well of emotions bubbling inside him. 

"Do you remember this Christmas?" Pickles asked quietly. Charles nodded as his younger self ran in with his brother. 

"Ma, it smells so good!" Brian exclaimed, trying to put his pinky finger into the gravy. Suzanne pulled from her husband long enough to slap her eldest's hand away. "I keep telling all of you that you have to wait for dinner!" She ushered them all out of the kitchen and through the ghostly duo. 

"What do you remember of this Christmas?" Pickles asked again as Wayne took his sons to the radio, tuning into a reading of The Night Before Christmas. Charles watched his father as he packed his pipe, leaning back into his armchair after it was lit. "This was the Christmas before he died." The words came out softer than a whisper as tears welled in Charles' eyes. 

The world shifted again and the armchair was empty, his father gone. The bustling noise of the kitchen was gone and the three remaining Offdensens were at the table, pointedly ignoring the empty chair at the head of the table. His mother had stopped cooking for Christmas after his father's death since she had to start working. Each family member had a takeout box from the closest Chinese restaurant. 

To this day, he still hated the taste of chicken lo mein. 

The warmth was gone. His mother had new purple circles around her eyes, her auburn hair now a mess. She had just gotten off work, if memory served him right. They were all sullen shells of the former Christmas. Brian picked at his food before getting up and leaving. Suzanne sighed. "Brian... at least one more bite, honey." 

"Not hungry." He muttered, heading to his room. Suzanne sighed again when the door slammed shut. She dropped her fork and ran a hand through her hair. Charlie looked at his mom then back at his lo mein. He forced himself to eat all of it despite the emptiness gnawing at him. Sadness had kept him and his brother full for days. "I finished my plate, Mama. Can I go?" 

Suzanne looked over at him with tired eyes. "Huh? Oh...yeah baby. Go ahead." Charlie slid out of his chair and went to his own room. Suzanne rubbed her face and a sob left her mouth. She started to shake, sobbing as she cried at the table. She kept her face buried in her hands as if catching all of her tears would bring back her husband. 

Charles wanted to put a hand on her shoulder, to tell her it would be okay. She didn't need to cry. He stepped closer to his mother and knelt next to her. He had a hand on her knee that she clearly couldn't feel. When even was the last time he had talked to his mother? The last visit was several years ago, to convince her to move out of the old house but she was determined to stay at the home she had built with her husband so many years ago. 

"...None of the Christmases were the same after that." Charles whispered quietly as the spirit closed his eyes. They watched in succession the Christmases of his childhood up into his teens. Suzanne looked worse and worse each passing year. Brian had become a rebellious teen and a bully, tormenting his brother at every turn. Charlie had gone from a bright eyed boy with the holidays warm in his heart to a cold, frowning teen. He already was developing the wrinkles in his forehead from the constant frown on his face, his eyes cold. 

The time began again and it was when Charles was nineteen. He was at the door, a suitcase in hand. "I don't see why you can't stay longer for the holidays." Suzanne whispered quietly, looking at his shoes rather than his face. She never told him but he always suspected that it was difficult for her to look at him since he looked so much like Wayne. "I have to return to my studies, Mother." He said just as quietly, turning on his heel to head to the cab waiting in the gravel driveway. 

Charles thought they would follow his teen self to his dorm where he spent most of his holidays during college, face buried in a book as he used studying as an emotional crutch. But they remained at his mother's house, watching as she shut the door. She sighed, pressing her forehead to the door, letting her sadness show. Her shoulders were slumped. Her hands dangled by her side. She inhaled deeply before straightening herself out. She started to set the table for more than one person. 

"What is she doing?" He asked the spirit. Pickles only grinned. "Watch." 

A knock on the door sounded and Suzanne put on a smile. She threw it open and pulled in Brian who was now in his twenties. "Brian, my boy." She whispered, hugging him tight. Brian smiled, kissing her cheek. "Hey Ma. We miss Charlie?" She nodded, taking the presents from his hand. "You didn't have to bring these." She scolded him lightly. He grinned again. "Ma, I wanted to." She set them down by Wayne's slightly dusty armchair. "You have more important things to save for." 

A woman stumbled in, a baby pressed to her hip. "I keep telling him that but he's so full of Christmas cheer. I dunno what you did to him, Suzanne." She teased lightly, a wry smile on her face. Brian crinkled his nose at her and took his son. 

Charles blinked. He had never met Brian's ex-wife before. He could barely remember her name. He wanted to say it was...Diana? Maybe even Delilah? 

Baby Kent babbled nonsense, waving his arms around. He let out a squeal when he saw Suzanne, kicking his small feet. "There's my boy!" Suzanne shouted, picking up Kent and nuzzling his cheek. Kent squealed again and wiggled his feet. Brian chuckled. "He's a little monster, that's what he is." 

Suzanne scoffed at him, placing him on her hip as she pulled the ready made dinner from the fridge. "Nonsense, he's the sweetest little baby I've ever seen." Brian placed an offended hand on his chest, mock hurt on his face. "Mother dearest, you usually say that about me." 

"I like Kent better." 

Brian fell dramatically in a chair, making Charles both snort and roll his eyes at his brother's antics. He had forgotten how their harsh teen years had left Brian a softer, more amicable man. Kent's mom collapsed in the chair next to his while Suzanne kept Kent on her hip. The weight of the small human didn't disturb her as she prepared a small feast with a single hand. Brian took a deep inhale of the pot roast. "Ma, that smells amazing." Kent's mom nodded along, picking up a roll delicately between two fingers. 

Suzanne smiled albeit a touch sadly as she tried not to look over at the two empty chairs where the other men in her family should be. 

"She did this for many years, you know." Pickles finally spoke, leaning against a wall where the portrait of a once happy family was. "Ever year." He twirled his hand and there was that fast forward again. Time and time again, they watched an aging Charles decline his mom until he stopped showing up during the holidays. Brian's family came until it was just Brian some years and Brian and Kent the others. The only constant was his aging mother. "But we've worn out our time here." 

Pickles grabbed his wrist as the world swirled and they landed outside of his old apartment building that he kept when he was in his late twenties. Before the rise of Dethklok. 

"No." Charles mumbled, barely getting the word out of his mouth. He stumbled as he tried to run. 

"Oh, but yes." Pickles said sadistically, pulling him towards the building. Charles tried to dig his heels into the snow then the gray carpet that was starting to fray on the edges as they went inside. They climbed up the stairs to his apartment on the third floor. He tried to stop the Ghost, grabbing whatever he could. His fingers couldn't catch the yellowing wallpaper or the white pillar. It didn't stop Pickles however. 

They came to a stop in front of Charles' old apartment, number 358. "Come on!' Pickles said cheerfully as he stepped through the wooden door. Charles pulled on his arm, trying to free his wrist before it was too late. 

There was a Christmas movie playing, the volume low. The heater didn't work, regardless of how many times Charles had called the landlord with frozen fingers. The two stepped towards the meager living room. Past Charles was on the ratty tan couch that once belonged to an old roommate. He had one arm draped along the back of the couch, playing loosely with one of Akita's curls. Akita was curled up next to him, his feet tucked under him as he leaned into Charles' chest as they watched White Christmas on his old TV that crackled with static now and then. 

Charles tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He had always spent his Christmases alone after he left the house before he met Akita. "Well, isn't he just pretty?" Pickles snarked, leaning against the couch. Charles nodded wordlessly. "Look at you. You're not even watching the movie." Pickles commented, watching White Christmas with partial interest. "It's a classic." 

He was right. Past Charles and even Current Charles had their eyes on the blonde instead of the screen. Akita looked up at Past Charles when he felt his gaze and laughed. "You're not even watching the movie." He said softly, a smile playing on his lips. Past Charles let his hand fall off the back of the couch and onto Akita's waist, leaning down to peck Akita's smile. "Was distracted." He offered as an excuse. Akita wrinkled his nose at him but returned his kiss. 

They cuddled in silence and Charles swore he could still feel the warmth on his side, the smell of Akita's shampoo tickling his nose when his boyfriend had pulled him closer. Charles walked around to the end of the couch and sat down next to the couple. He watched White Christmas to keep the tears at bay. "...This was our first Christmas together. We were still a fairly new couple. I was so nervous." He chuckled softly. "Akita made it easy. He always did." 

Pickles sat next to him, phasing through Akita's legs. "Do you remember how you met him?" 

Charles nodded. It was a moment he often went back to along with the quiet Christmas of cuddling and Christmas movies. "We met at a bar. It was actually after my first Snakes N Barrels concert. He was there at the bar, leaning on the counter." He smiled softly. "I'll never forget it. He had his hair down. Wild curls. It was the first thing that caught everyone's attention. Well, other than being tall. Taller with heels. He was wearing a black Snakes N Barrels shirt he had cropped and a pair of short black shorts. Left very little to the imagination." 

Pickles snorted happily. "And?" 

His smile fell and grimaced. "I was a wreck. I had drunk more than I could handle but apparently I was very charming and persuasive. I woke up the next morning with a hangover and Akita's phone number written on my forearm. In Sharpie." Pickles cackled wildly. "He even signed it, telling me to call him as soon as I could." He glanced over at the younger version of his ex. "Took me months." 

Pickles snapped his fingers and they were no longer on the couch. Hell, they weren't even in Charles' apartment anymore. "And this Christmas?" Pickles asked. Charles looked around wildly. "I..." His words fell short. "This is-" The tips of his ears turned red. There was a faint squeaking of bedsprings from Akita's room. Pickles cackled again. "Yep. This is what, your fourth Christmas together?" 

Charles nodded stiffly. His whole face had turned red. He saw the packaging on the floor and didn't need help remembering Akita's gag gift. Pickles picked up the packaging and laughed again as Charles turned a darker shade of red. Akita had gotten him a set of handcuffs and an actual ball gag that was perfect between the blonde's teeth. It had been given with a suggestive wink and an assurance he would love it. 

And loved it he had. 

"Can we please move on?" Charles moaned, completely mortified when he heard his own grunting. Pickles' laughter had died to a giggle before he snapped his fingers again. 

They were in a better apartment, one that Charles had rented when Dethklok started to take off. Akita was setting candles onto the table, an engagement ring on his finger. Charles had taken ages trying to find the right one. He had finally settled on a simple gold band with a diamond embedded in the center. It costed him a pretty penny but the glowing smile and watery eyes as Akita kissed him stupid was worth every cent. Akita was humming Christmas carols under his breath as he lit the candles. Past Charles came up behind him when he finished and set a slightly burned ham on the table. Akita stifled his giggles and turned to kiss his cheek, leaving a red imprint. "Looks good." 

Past Charles glared up at him, rubbing his cheek. "Don't lie to me, Akita. This is bad." Akita chuckled. "I'm not. It's your first attempt and it's good." He kissed Charles quickly before he could protest. 

The two ate in relative silence, reaching across the table to hold hands. Akita rubbed the back of Past Charles' knuckles with his thumb and even teased him that the ham tasted great (it didn't, he pretty much burned the skin and the whole thing tasted burnt and smoky). Past Charles interlocked their fingers and smiled broadly at the sight of his ring on Akita's finger. "...I still can't believe you said yes." He confided quietly to his mashed potatoes. 

Unfortunately, it seemed the blonde had better hearing than credited. "Why wouldn't I? I love you, Charlie baby." The nickname made Past Charles turn pink and Current Charles coughed under Pickles' curious gaze, his ears burning as the tips turned crimson. 

Pickles graciously took mercy on him and fast forwarded the past again. Christmas had passed and slowly, Past Charles disappeared from the next few Christmases. The first, Akita waited at the table with the candles only an inch tall. He looked disappointed, tapping his fingers against the table and checking his phone obsessively. Charles' heart sank. This wasn't the mercy he was hoping for. 

The second, Akita didn't even bother lighting the candles. He left the lighter next to the candles and tapped his foot against the floor, arms crossed over his chest. 

The third, Akita didn't set the table. He waited on the couch, looking between the door and his phone. 

Pickles stopped on the fourth Christmas they had been living together. Akita had a suitcase in his hand and Charles turned quickly to Pickles. "Spirit, please. Don't make me relive this. Don't do this to me." Pickles widened his eyes, the poster child of innocence. "Whatever do you mean?" Pickles asked as he dragged Charles behind him to keep up with the blonde. Akita called for a cab and Charles knew where he was headed. 

He already relived this moment every night since it had happened. 

The cab stopped just short of Mordhaus and Akita stepped out after paying the driver. The car sped off, snow spraying in its wake. They followed his journey, levitating overhead. Charles turned to Pickles. "Please, Spirit. Don't. Take me back to the present. I don't..." He lost his words to the growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

"Nope!" Pickles said cheerfully, popping the p. 

The Klokateers tried to stop him but all it took was a glare that scared the men into letting Akita through. He stormed through the halls, brushed past Grace without even so much as a hello to Charles' secretary and tried to open Charles' office. Finding it locked, all it took was a solid kick near the keyhole. Past Charles startled in his office chair, dropping his phone and his briefcase. He glared at his fiancée. "....You could have knocked Akita. Or tell Grace. I have a secretary for a reason." Akita's face was the picture of indifference, not showing a single emotion as he stepped forward and placed his engagement ring on the desk in front of Past Charles. 

Past Charles glanced between the ring and Akita. "W-What kind of joke is this? It's hardly tasteful, Akita." He asked, voice wavering only once. Akita tightened his grip on his suitcase. "...I'm going back home Charles. I'm returning to Finland and I wish you all the best going forward. I hope the band becomes everything you hope." He turned on his heel and started to walk towards the door. 

Past Charles fumbled, grabbing the ring and running around his desk. He caught Akita by the wrist. "Wait! What do you mean by this? Is this because I didn't come home? Akita, darling, I told you that there was work to be done and -" 

"It's not just tonight." Akita's voice came out jagged, wrenching his wrist out of his hand. "It's about the years you haven't come home. You don't answer my texts or my calls. You don't even let me visit you anymore. You've missed our wedding twice because of this damn band. I don't want to spend the rest of my life like this with false promises and an empty home." He looked at Past Charles, a burning rage hidden in watery eyes. 

Past Charles swallowed roughly and Current Charles looked away. "But Akita, I love you." 

Akita's smile was cruel and twisted. "You loved me once just as I once loved you. But now that love is gone. Goodbye, Charles." 

With that, he was gone and Past Charles was too stunned to run after him again. He slumped onto the floor, Akita's engagement ring cradled in his hand as he started to sob. 

Current Charles didn't bother to look at the miserable ball of a man on the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the whole ordeal. "...Spirit. Please. Cease your torment. I know this is a result of my own actions but he didn't understand." He whispered. It had been the lie he had been telling himself for years. If the roles had been reversed, he was certain he would have left earlier than Akita did. 

Pickles only sighed and Past Charles' sobs faded. Charles opened his eyes and he was back in his office again, lying flat on his desk. 

\------------------------

He pushed the desk back in place, pointedly ignoring the overwhelming cauldron of emotions in his chest. Digging through the past was something he positively hated to do and usually only did in a moment of self loathing, drinking or both. It was usually both.

He sat behind his computer and flung himself into his usual distraction - work. There was a neat order to getting the contract or drafting meetings or even going over the finances. And the rush of pride that came with the ever increasing numbers. 

He didn't even notice when it turned two o'clock and the room was starting to get too warm. He rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. What did catch his attention was the bright golden light coming from his office door. He blinked and tried to squint into it. 

He made a disgusted noise from the back of his throat and got up to go shut the door. Christmas spices caught his nose and he inhaled deeply. 

Now that the light was no longer blinding him, he could see into the room. There was an absolute mountain of food, spilling over the table and onto the floor. Turkeys, hams, fruits of all sorts, mashed potatoes, duck, a variety of vegetables, cookies, pies, candies. From appetizers to desserts. They smelled heavenly to his rumbling stomach and he was half tempted to snag a cookie when booming laughter caught his attention. 

"Well, come in and know me better, man!" Toki, with his accent and manner of speaking completely gone, shouted from where he sat on a mountain of presents. He was the size of a house, doubled over to keep from whacking his head on the ceiling. 

Clearly, this was the next spirit or Charles had unintentionally got high off of one of Pickles' drugs by accident. 

"Come in and know me better, man!" Toki's face furrowed in confusion before rubbing his fu manchu. "...Did I say that already?" 

Charles nodded cautiously. 

Toki only shrugged and reached over to Charles, picking him up between his fingers. "Well, come in! Know me better, man!" 

"You are awfully absentminded, Spirit." Toki let out another round of booming laughter, rattling Charles' bones. "Well, it comes with the job. I am the Ghost of Christmas Present and I live in the here and now, regardless of when it comes." He set Charles down next to him and began to slowly drink, sliding off the presents to stand next to the manager. He towered over him, he was easily over six feet, maybe even seven. "And it is the eve before Christmas! Such a wonderful time!" He laughed again and waved his hand as if he were doing a party trick. A snow globe appeared from behind his hand and slid across his palm to follow his every action. "So many families start their celebration early and I find it fascinating, don't you?" 

Charles scrunched his nose. He was a traditionalist when he did celebrate all those years ago like his mother and father. Christmas was celebrated on the 25th. Not the 24th. "And who exactly celebrates on the 24th?" He asked the giant. Toki chuckled at him again as if he said something amusing. "Well, some of your associates for one. Let's see..." He focused on the snow globe, swiping at it with his index finger as if he was using a smartphone. "Ah!" 

He threw the snow globe down onto the ground and Charles shouted, ducking behind the figure to avoid getting cut by broken glass as smoke left the ball. He blinked when it finally cleared and they were in the middle of an empty street. Charles looked around, disoriented and confused. "S-Spirit, where are we?" Toki shot him an amused grin and only gestured for him to follow. 

They walked down a few blocks covered in cheery Christmas lights with snowmen and Santas waving while Christmas tree bulbs twinkled. Toki had to stop and applaud any design he saw, commenting his favorites and asking Charles for his. Charles shrugged most of the time. He found it all to be very gaudy and tacky. It didn't deter the cheery spirit and they continued on while Toki hummed carols half absentmindedly, changing the tune often. He bounded with a little skip in his jump. 

They stopped in front of a house that had icicles wrapped around the edge of the gutters that lit up in sections. A wreath was on the door with a droopy red bow doing its best to appear cheery. There were a net lights on the dead bushes in front. It felt kind of...off compared to the other lit up houses around. "What are we doing here?" 

Toki hummed again. "We're here to visit one of your coworkers. Did I not say that?" Charles stayed silent, trying to figure out who it could be. Most (if not all) of the Klokateers stayed at Mordhaus in dorms. Maybe Twinkletits? Or even Knubbler? 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Toki who pulled him into the house through the closed door. There was bustling and low Spanish music coming from the kitchen. There was someone, a woman, singing exuberantly in Spanish alongside the music. Charles winced. She had little talent but was using her excitement to cover it. She came out of the kitchen, dancing what Charles assumed to be salsa steps. She was short, possibly shorter than his mother. She was round with tan skin and dark ringlets that stopped right above her shoulders. She picked up the turkey from the middle of the table. It had a broken leg and cuts in the breasts from where it had been carved. She carried it into the kitchen, disappearing from view. 

"Mama, is Mom home yet?" A young boy, Charles guessed he was maybe ten or younger, hobbled into view with Spiderman pajamas on. His left foot was in a bright green cast and people had signed their names on it in red Sharpie to make it look festive. A small crutch was tucked under his tan arm and he was concentrating very hard to not fall as he went down the steps. 

The woman poked her head out of the kitchen and gasped. "Jourdan!" The woman scolded gently, ushering him into a seat. "I told you to go to bed." 

The boy, Jourdan, shifted. "I know, but when is Mom coming home? She missed Christmas dinner." He pouted before nibbling on a deviled egg. The woman sighed and sat down next to him. "Mijo, I don't know. I was hoping she would be here by now." She also grabbed a deviled egg, clinking it against her son's in a mock toast before chewing thoughtfully on it as she watched the clock. 

The door slammed open and Abigail phased through both of them. "I'm here! I'm here." She was breathless, doubled over as she panted. The woman put a hand onto Jourdan's shoulder when he tried to get up to go greet his mom. "Mi vida, did you run here?" 

Abigail chuckled between pants. "Something like that. I had to make it." 

The woman clicked her tongue at her. "You missed it by a few hours. Merry Christmas, Abby." Abigail was crestfallen, but she quickly put on a smile for her family. "Merry Christmas, Carmen." She went to the table and kissed her cheek. "And Merry Christmas to you, Jourdan." Jourdan smiled widely as she pecked his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Mom!" 

"Now, I can smell that turkey you've been cooking and it smells heavenly. Where can I get some?" Abigail asked, rubbing her hands together excitedly. Carmen smiled fondly at her wife, shaking her head. "Microwave. I have a plate ready for you." 

"And that's why you're the best." Carmen rolled her eyes, pink on her cheeks. "Just eat your turkey." 

They continued to talk quietly while Jourdan nodded off, leaning against Carmen's arm for support. It was a quiet moment, something shared between lovers. They had their fingers interlocked in a way that made Charles' chest ache. Abby rubbed her knuckles absentmindedly, thumb brushing over the golden band on her wife's finger. 

"What's on your mind?" Carmen asked quietly. She had moved Jourdan so that the boy was in her lap, his head on her shoulder. Abby watched them both and sighed deeply. "...I'm thinking about quitting." Carmen and Charles' eyes widened in unison. 

"Quitting?!" Charles roared. He stormed up to her. "You don't just 'quit' Dethklok, Ms. Remeltindtdrinc. Did you not read the contract?!" 

Neither woman reacted to his outburst. "Why?" Abigail sighed, her eyes on Jourdan. "I'm missing his life and I'm missing time with you. I'm always at that damned -" She grinned sheepishly when Carmen shot her a look about her use of profanity. "Well...that darn office and it's so dreary. It's wearing on me and don't get me started on Mr. Offdensen. The man is the worst son of a bi- most unpleasant man I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. Everything is work, work, work. Or it's the band. The band takes top priority over everything." She pulled her hand away from Carmen's to rub her face, smearing her eyeliner. She looked like a raccoon with teal eyes. "...I'm tired honey, and I want to spend time with you and Jourdan before he grows up thinking he doesn't have me or that I don't love him." 

Carmen watched her partner before taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. "I will support you no matter what you decide. We can switch. My dresses are finally getting recognized so you won't be the only woman in this house with a big paycheck." She paused. "Well, if I get the promotion and if it goes well." Abigail smiled, a look of relief, love and happiness all rolled into one as she pulled her closer for a kiss. "I love you. We'll make it work. We can be frugal for now and maybe we have to dip into Jourdan's college fund but we'll make it work without Dethklok." 

Carmen smiled happily and kissed her again. "We will." 

Charles was positively fuming. "Make it work?! With a growing boy?! We, no, I have provided you with a quality job for over three years now Ms. Remeltindtdrinc and you mean to tell me that this job is draining?!" He seethed between clenched teeth. 

"This Offdensen guy sounds rather rough. Wait..." Toki let out a loud laugh, clapping Charles' back roughly. Charles bristled, shooting the tall man a withering glare. "Ah, but the night gives way to Christmas day!" He clapped his hands loudly and the family disappeared. 

They were no longer in Abigail's home. He didn't recognize the house they were in. It was loud, that much was certain. Upbeat pop versions of Christmas carols rang through the house. People were everywhere and this was not Charles' type of scene. 

Children were barricaded to one side of the house and the adults were hiding in the kitchen and dining room. Booze was being passed out liberally while the kids got their sugary fixes off of sweet punch. Toki laughed goodheartedly as a horde of kids ran past, playing tag as they screamed at one another at the top of their lungs. Charles made a face, stepping towards the wall. "Where are we?" 

Toki ignored him, opting to sing along with one of the pop carols as he shuffled in place. Charles rolled his eyes. "Spirit, where are we?" He asked once again. Toki paused, scratching his head in deep thought. "Where are we? Why, Christmas present!" Charles pulled at his face, dragging his lower eyelids down. "No, spirit. Where in the world are we?" Toki frowned. "Where? Oh..." He looked around as if he was looking for somebody. "Ah, there!" He pointed to a group of people in the far corner. 

He had pointed out Brian who was in the middle of laughing. He was starting to go gray around his temples and he had put on weight, a paunch in his middle barely hidden by his obnoxious Christmas sweater that had Number One Elf written in bright gold letters. Kent was next to his dad, grinning like a cat that caught a mouse. He had darker hair than his father but the same mischievous chocolate eyes. He had an arm around his wife, Clara. She was a pretty woman who came to Kent's shoulder with long black hair that almost reached her knees. Her nose was upturned and she had freckles dotting her cheeks. She had a wry smile on her pink lips as if what Kent said was funny if not completely stupid. 

Charles blinked once, then twice. "Why are we here?" He finally asked once words returned to him. He hadn't seen his nephew in years. The man was almost unrecognizable. 

"To observe of course! Did no one tell you what you're doing here, man?" 

Charles didn't bother to answer. His eyes rolled as he looked around the room. They stopped on a little boy who was half hiding under a table to avoid the other children and adults. His brow furrowed. The boy was thin with gangly limbs that poked out at weird angles. He was curled in on himself as he halfheartedly chewed on a sugar cookie, flicking away the sprinkles with an unhappy look on his face. 

Charles took a step towards him. "Spirit? Who's that?" He asked quietly as if the boy could possibly hear him. The boy hugged his legs tighter to his chest when a herd of children ran past him. His fingers had patches of white skin among the tan. The uneven patches were visible on his face and neck and Charles was certain they didn't stop there. "Why is he here all by himself?" He asked again, not caring whether the spirit replied or not as he sat down next to the lonely soul. 

Heels clicked against the hardwood floor. "Daemon?" Charles and the boy both looked up at Clara. "Daemon, why aren't you playing with the other kids?" Daemon gave a halfhearted shrug, looking away from her. Clara sighed exasperatedly and tried to pull him out. "Come on!" She grunted as her son resisted. Daemon shook his head fiercely and held on tightly to the table leg. Charles frowned up at her. "He told you he doesn't want to. What are you doing, idiot?!" He hissed at her, despite knowing fully well that she wouldn't hear him. 

She finally pulled him out with a firm grip on his bicep, her nails biting into the material of his sweater. He winced and tried to pull away. Charles could see more of his features now. He had the same black hair that Clara did but one green and one brown eye to go along with his vitiligo. He looked distressed, even frightened to have been pulled out from underneath the table. 

He continued to furiously shake his head in protest and even tried to pull away more than once as Clara dragged him over to the other kids. He dug his heels into the floor, scuffing the bottoms of his shoes and making Clara scold him angrily. "Honestly!" Finally, she lost her temper and threw him to Kent who was still talking to Brian. "Handle your son!" She hissed furiously between clenched teeth before going to the kitchen to find something alcoholic before she did something she would regret. 

Kent watched his wife leave, bewildered. Daemon hid behind his legs, hiding his face in the jeans. The tips of his ears were glowing red and it was clear he was feeling humiliated to be out where everyone could see him. 

Brian tsked, the sound sharp against the cheery Christmas music. "You sure know how to pick them." This proved to be a bad statement as Kent bristled. "Just like you, Pop. Just. Like. You." 

Brian narrowed his eyes, his jolly demeanor gone. "Let's not start this now, son." Son came out laced with venom and a silent threat. It was obvious this was a rehashed argument. 

Another reason why Charles detested the holidays. People felt forced to be in high spirits despite wanting nothing more than to rip the people they detested to shreds. 

Daemon looked up forlorn between the two adults, a soft whimper building in his chest. He looked around before hiding behind his father's jeans when another batch of kids ran past him. 

Kent absentmindedly pushed Daemon towards the group. "Go on now, Dae. Daddy needs to talk to Pop Pop." 

Daemon's face was a look of pure terror as if his father had just sentenced him to death instead of playtime. He froze when he was pushed in the general direction of the living room where the children were congregating. He was huddled over and Charles wanted nothing more than to rush over and shield his grandnephew. He wanted to run over and hug the poor boy and reassure him.

The urge to protect the poor boy only grew when one of the children grinned maliciously when he spotted Daemon. It was a tall boy and a bully from the look in his blue eyes. He was chubby and clearly had the weight advantage over little Daemon. 

"Spirit. Spirit, can't we help him?!" Charles pulled on Toki's navy blue shirt. "Can't we do anything?!" 

Toki tilted his head. "Did I not tell you? We're only here to observe. We aren't even tangible, my good man!" Toki chuckled merrily and Charles wanted to deck the taller man in the face, even if he couldn't reach. 

He could only watch helplessly as the bigger boy pulled on Daemon's hand. "Hey guys, look! The freak came out of hiding!" 

Daemon dug his heels into the floor, trying desperately to make another escape as he was dragged to the group. 

"Spirit, please! We can't just do nothing!" 

The kids began to pull on Daemon's skin, scratching the white patches as they called him names. 

"Spirit! We have to help him!" 

Freak. Misfit. Ugly. Daemon just curled into a ball to avoid it which led to the bigger boy kicking his ribs. 

"Can't anyone help him?!" 

Daemon was sobbing, trying to catch breaths between the kicks as his ribs ached. 

"SPIRIT PLEASE!" Charles grabbed Toki's shirt again and got on his knees. He didn't even notice the tears on his own face. "LET ME HELP HIM!" 

\----------------------

He fell forward, landing against the plush carpet of his office. 

Charles got onto his feet, his breathing still shaky and tear tracks on his face. He wiped angrily at the moisture and rubbed his nose. "P-Preposterous. Crying over someone I hardly know." He mumbled to himself. He picked up his files and went back to his desk, trembling like a leaf. He couldn't get the image out of his head. He couldn't unsee little Daemon getting tormented on Christmas Day. 

Happiest time of the year, Charles' ass. 

He rubbed his face, needing something more than work to keep his mind occupied. He pulled out the cognac and amaretto, mixing the two in a glass with a single ice cube in it and swirling it together with a spoon. The clinking of the spoon against the glass helped him ground himself in reality without any of that Christmas nonsense. He took a long sip of his cocktail and almost spat it out all over his desk. 

A figure in black stood in the middle of his office with their chin touching their chest and he glanced over the black pork pie hat. 

Four o'clock. 

"...I suppose you are the final spirit." 

The hat bobbed slowly. 

"And that makes you what? The Ghost of Christmas Future?" 

Another nod. 

"So tell me, Spirit. How do you plan to torment me into loving this damned holiday?" 

The Ghost lifted their head and Charles couldn't hold back his gasp. 

The spirit was a woman with a heart shaped face. Comically large blue eyes bore into his soul, making him shiver. She had pasty white skin as if she had been dead for a while, gray along her cheeks and nose where blood would color. 

The final nail in the creepy coffin was the thick black thread stitched across her pale lips, keeping her mouth shut for all eternity. 

Charles swallowed roughly. "S-So I suppose you can't tell me." 

Her head leaned to the right slowly, almost touching her shoulder. The pork pie hat never moved from its spot on her head. 

"Very well then. Let's get this over with." He resigned himself to his fate, standing up and holding his hand out to the Spirit who didn't alter her form to make him feel 'appeased'. She towered over him by a good seven or eight inches, the black overcoat making her look even taller. 

She stared at his hand with unblinking eyes then up to this face before shaking her head slowly. 

"No? Why?" 

The room grew colder, the type of bitter cold that made bones feel heavy. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. His teeth audibly chattered but she remained unaffected by the sudden drop in temperature. She held out her arm and made a grand sweeping gesture. 

He looked around. "T-This is still my off-f-ice. J-Just c-c-cold." 

She rolled her eyes back into her head and for a moment Charles worried they got stuck. 

An elderly Charles shuffled in, hunched over his cane. He was balding, what hair he had left was white as snow. He had liver spots on his hands and more wrinkles than features on his face. His suit was rumpled and his tie was haphazardly thrown together around his neck. "D-Damn heater." He moaned, whacking the useless machinery with the polished wood. He shuffled over to the desk now covered in an inch of thick dust. "I told Grace to clean this!" He hissed, some venom still in his weak voice. 

He pushed a button, static responding. "Grace! I told you to clean this desk, you useless waste!" Static continued to crackle and he let go of the button, grumbling. "Damn secretaries. So hard to get good help these days." 

Current Charles turned to the spirit. "And Grace? Where is she if she doesn't work for me anymore?" 

The Ghost of Christmas Future tilted her head again. He had a feeling he really didn't want to know. 

"Alright... then my mother. And Brian. Little Daemon, he must be an adult by now!" 

He was too focused on the Ghost of Christmas Future to notice that his Future self was having difficulty breathing, wheezing heavily. 

"Then what of Akita? His family?" 

Future Charles coughed heavily into his fist, the noise rattling in his chest. Specks of blood was on his skin. 

"The band? Tell me that they make it, Spirit!" 

Future Charles tried to call for help, reaching desperately for the intercom button. 

"Pickles, Murderface, Toki... they can't die!" 

Future Charles' fingers stilled, mere inches from the dusty gold button. 

Charles Foster Offdensen. Died as he had lived. 

\---------------------

Charles finally shut his mouth when he realized the room had gone silent. He looked to his future self and recoiled back. The old man was face down against the dust on the desk, hand outstretched. 

Charles retched, his empty stomach wishing there was something solid to vomit. Stomach acid and alcohol finally evacuated his mouth and he doubled over. The Spirit took a step back from him. If he could see her, he would have seen the disgust twist her features. 

Hell, he would even share the same sentiment. 

He wiped his mouth. "So...that's it. I die alone in my office like a sad man. So what?!" He yelled at the spirit, relishing in how she took another step back. "So I have no one to come rescue me, it doesn't matter! I'll be mourned. I was - am considered a god in this world! The legacy I have planted will live forever!" He laughed hysterically. "I won't ever die!" 

The Spirit rolled her eyes again, this time without showing the whites of her eyes. 

Her hand clamped down on his shoulder lightning fast, her chipped nails digging into his dress shirt and even piercing the skin beneath. He winced and she stepped closer to him. He couldn't pull away, her nails kept him anchored to her. He was sucked into the depth of her blue eyes, seeing nothing and yet everything all at once. 

She pulled away and he blinked, rubbing at his eyes. He was outside of Mordhaus now. 

Well, what was once the proud Mordhaus. 

The air ship was grounded. Well, crashed was a better word for it. The dragon's head was gone with only a jagged stump in its place. The engines were nothing more than rusted scraps of metal. The hull had holes that explained how the cold had seeped into the walls. 

It was apparent no one but the now dead Charles had been to the fallen home of Dethklok. 

"This...This means nothing! Mordhaus' location was never disclosed to anyone! No one would be able to find it if we crashed!" 

The spirit sighed heavily through her nose and grabbed his shoulder again in the same vice grip. 

They were now in a cemetery and if Charles had anything left to vomit, he would. 

Once the feeling passed, he glanced over at the Spirit who was already walking over to a set of five gravestones that had been clumped together. Charles narrowed his eyes before following the spirit, wary to use her footsteps to get through the thick snow.

He sidestepped around her and looked at the snow covered gravestones. They had clearly seen better days. The jet black marble was eroded and it was clear no one had been there to maintain the graves in quite some time. 

The Ghost shoved him towards the graves. He looked back at her, trembling. Black only meant one thing in his life and if he was right, this was hardly good. 

She motioned for him to wipe the snow with a wave of her hand. 

He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to scream at her and demand to be taken back to his office. Back to the warmth and safety it provided before he was haunted by these damn spirits hellbent on making his life miserable. 

But something in her eyes made him bite his tongue and wipe at the gravestone furthest to the left. 

Skwisgaar Skwigelf. Taller than tree. 

He swallowed roughly and moved on to the next. 

Toki Wartooth. Not a bumblebee. 

His heart was rapidly sinking in his chest. 

William Murderface, Murderface, Murderface. 

His hand was shaking, leaving behind snow in the engraved letters. 

Pickles the Drummer. Doodily doo, ding dong, doodily doodily doo. 

He knew what the next grave would be but he wiped the snow anyway. 

Nathan Explosion. 

His knees gave in and he collapsed in the snow, not caring about the cold or the fact that his pants would be wet. "...so they don't make it." 

The Ghost rolled her eyes again and pulled him to another grave. She wiped the snow off herself and pointed to something inscribed in the granite: 

All good things must come to an end. 

He laughed wetly, hot tears rolling down his face. "Then what of Abigail and her family? Does Jourdan end up alright even though she quits?" 

The Ghost of Christmas Future looked away from him, mulling the request over. She clutched his shoulder and he was certain he would forever feel her nails in his skin. 

An elderly Abigail and Carmen rocked happily in front of a small house. It was painted white but the sand made it almost golden. 

Charles groaned at the sudden heat, raising a hand to block the fading sun. "it's Christmas, why is it so hot?" 

The Spirit shrugged. 

A car hovered over the driveway before landing. The doors on the side split with a hiss before drawing open to reveal Jourdan who was now well into his adult life. He had grown stocky, most likely from all the food Carmen made him. He stepped out and held out his hand. A dainty hand grabbed his broad palm and stepped down. 

Abigail waved hello, not bothering to get up. Carmen, on the other hand, was on her feet and she rushed over. She barely reached Jourdan's chest but it didn't stop her from crushing the ever daylights out of her son and the blonde woman who let out a grunt of surprise. 

The woman laughed happily, the sound like tinkling bells. "Good as always to see you, Mama." She waved to Abigail who smiled. "And you as well Mom." 

Abigail finally got up. She had traded her pant suit for a pair of knee high khaki shorts and a blue tank top to combat the heat. "It's nice to have you two over for the holidays. When are we supposed to get our grandchildren again?" 

The woman blushed, her hazel eyes widening. Jourdan chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he too turned red. "Mooom. You said you wouldn't." 

"Never promised anything like that." She gently pulled Carmen off of the couple. "Honey, does that sound like something I'd promise?" 

Carmen looked up at her then to her son, craning her neck. "I don't know about you, but I didn't promise anything like that. I'm still waiting for my little nietos. I want to hear little feet running around again!" 

The couple turned deeper shades of red. They shared a look and the woman giggled. Jourdan chuckled and grabbed her hand. "Well, what do you think, love? I know you wanted to wait?" 

She glanced conspiratorially over at the two women then back to her husband with another giggle bubbling from her lips. "Oh, let's just tell them. You couldn't keep it quiet even if you tried." 

Jourdan let out an offended noise as he let go of her hands to step back into the vehicle. 

"Tell us what?" Abigail asked, arms crossed over her chest and an eyebrow cocked. Carmen elbowed her wife to keep her from intimidating the two. 

"Well..." The woman stalled until Jourdan stepped out with two gifts wrapped in red wrapping paper with nutcracker soldiers standing at attention. He placed them into his mothers' hands. "I think this will tell you better than anything we could ever say." 

Abigail and Carmen shared a look before tearing the paper and opening the boxes. Abigail didn't say anything, she only stared into the box with wide eyes. Carmen let out a loud gasp, her eyes watering as she picked up the ornament. 

They had gotten the wives matching white ornaments that had World's Best Grandma written in bright red. 

"NO!" Carmen shouted, clutching the ornament tightly to her chest. Her box fell against the ground. "You mean it?! I swear, Jourdan and Elizabeth, if this is your idea of a prank - "

Her threat fell flat as Jourdan laughed happily with Elizabeth giggling behind him. "It's not. We found out a few weeks ago. Belle insisted that we get them." His smile fell when Abby didn't move. "Mom-" 

Abigail finally looked up at him, watery eyes barely focusing on her son's face. "I'm gonna be a grandma." Carmen chuckled and hugged her tight. "We are going to be grandmas." 

Charles watched with satisfaction written all over his face. "See? They're fine and they're part of Deth-" His argument fell quiet as he realized that, no. Abigail was no longer part of Dethklok if he didn't change. 

"Well...that doesn't matter. Show me my family. Brian, Kent, Daemon. All of them." 

The spirit seemed to hesitate before placing her hand firmly on his shoulder. 

They were back in another cemetery. 

Charles let out an exasperated noise. "Spirit, I said my family! I know what becomes of the band." The words felt bitter on his tongue. He put her hand back on his shoulder. "Take me to them. For real, this time." 

She shook her head, taking her hand off his shoulder. His scowl returned full force as he forced her hand back onto his shoulder, clutching it tightly so she couldn't escape. "Take me to them, Spirit!" 

She narrowed her eyes before picking him up by the collar of his shirt. He yelped before choking on his shirt, pulling uselessly on the material. 

She carried him to a plot of land and dumped him unceremoniously onto the snow. He coughed and rubbed at his neck, sending her a hateful glare that she ignored. She pointed to the graves. 

He looked over to them and wandered closer. Clearly, this was a mistake. 

Charles stepped carefully to the grave stones and wiped the snow. 

Brian Abraham Offdensen. 

He closed his eyes and lowered his head. He knew that logically it made sense that Brian would die before he did but a small part of him hoped that their case would be an outlier. 

"And the grave next to his? My mother's? Kent's?" 

The Ghost offered nothing but turned her head away as if she couldn't bear watch Charles as he wiped the gravestone. 

He froze in place, his breath caught in his throat. He didn't want to believe his eyes, but there it was. Bright as day. 

Daemon Brooks Offdensen. 

Buried next to his grandpa with no one even bothering to care for either grave. 

Tears pooled in his eyes. He really had no one left. 

Wait. 

He grabbed the spirit again, pulling wildly at her black overcoat. "This can't be it! Show me Akita! He has to at least be alive and well!" 

Her eyes got wider, if possible, and she tried to yank her coat out of his hands. 

"Please, Spirit! He can't be gone too!" 

She looked away from him again and he had the feeling that she would press her lips into a thin line if she could. She sighed through her nose again, deep and prolonged before grabbing his shoulder again. 

They were in Finland if the torrent of Finnish coming from lit bars was any indicator. Charles wanted to jump for joy. It wasn't another cemetery! "So tell me, Spirit. Does he inherit his father's land? Does he retire there like he always dreamed and spends his days helping people? Please tell me he does." He begged, forgetting that she couldn't reply to him. 

Not that she would anyway. 

She took his hand as if he were a small child (which he might as have been when compared to her height) and led him down the street. He knew this road. Granted he had only walked it once before but he could never forget the way to Akita's childhood home. 

He pulled ahead, dragging the spirit behind him as he plowed through the snow. He broke out into a full run when he saw smoke in the distance. His legs were cramping, his lungs were burning and he was certain he was going to vomit or pass out or both. It would all be worth it if Akita was still alive and well. 

He didn't even make it to the house before he had to stop, doubling over with his hands on his knees. The spirit applauded him, whether it was sarcastic or sincere he didn't know. She picked him up with an arm around his middle and she carried him the rest of the way to the house. 

She stepped through the wall and set him down gently as he looked around confused. It was supposed to be Christmas. Why was the Kujakissa family wearing so much black? 

He didn't recognize anyone in the family. They were descendants he didn't know. People he never had the chance to know. 

He stepped through the crowd of lowered heads and wild curls. Akita always did joke that the wild hair ran in the family. 

A large person was in front of a chestnut colored casket with their head lowered. Gray was peeking through the black hair, almost engulfing it. Their frame shook as they took a shuddering breath and Charles had to commend them for not sobbing. They looked up at the crowd with pain and misery in their watery brown eyes. "Akita Kujakissa was...is my best friend in this whole world." 

Charles' whole world was coming shattering down around him. 

"He.... He taught me so much." Their voice cracked and a tear rolled down their cheek. "He taught me to be brave and proud of who I am. He was my confidante. My wingman. My brother." More tears followed suit and it was taking them everything not to break down crying in front of the Kujakissa clan. "He meant more to me than anyone ever could." They turned to the casket. "I don't want to tell you goodbye yet, la'u kapani." They whispered only for Akita to hear. 

Charles ventured closer, sick to his stomach at the mere thought of holding a funeral at Christmas. 

If he didn't know better, he'd say Akita was just sleeping. 

The man had his eyes closed, lips painted with his favorite burgundy lipstick and a touch of blush to make him look alive. His hair had been left alone, creating a curly mess around his head. He was wearing a form fitting purple dress that had a sweetheart neckline with a lacy collar and sleeves. Charles swallowed roughly. He remembered the dress. It was a favorite of Akita's and he often wore it on their dates. The color brought out his eyes and made his hair stand out. 

The Samoan rubbed the chestnut and said something too quiet for Charles to catch before pulling the lid down over Akita's face. 

"No! Wait!" He tried to stop the massive figure, his fingers flailing through the other's body. "Don't!" The casket was lifted by the pallbearers and Charles tried to stop them, his hands merely phasing through their bodies. "You can't take him!" 

The Ghost of Christmas Future's hand landed on his shoulder again, gently this time and she offered him her condolences with a soft squeeze. 

The tears kept coming, streaking across his face as he crumpled down on the floor without a sound. His glasses were pushed up to his forehead as he tried to wipe away the onslaught. Sobs wrecked his frame as he ran out of air, panting with each breath. 

He deserved this. 

He deserved every loss he was given. 

The cold gravestones of his family and friends with no visitors. Not being there for his fiancée when he needed him the most. This bleak future was the one he made for himself. 

And he deserved it. 

\-----------------------

If Charles glanced at the spirit, he would have noticed the Ghost of Christmas Future pull at the thread bounding her mouth close. He would have seen her pull the thread clear through her wounds and letting it drop to the floor. 

It probably would have made him gag unapologetically. 

Her form glowed white for a minute and a new hand was placed on Charles' shoulder with short, stubby fingers that had developed calluses from years of playing bass. 

Charles looked up at the blurry figure, wiping the tears away as he sniffled. He was trying hard to get his breathing under control. 

His glasses were pushed back down onto his nose. "It doesn't have to be this way." A voice murmured, a welcome break from his crying and the silence from the prior spirit. 

Charles stared numbly at Murderface who had lost his lisp. "...I thought I was done with spirits after the last one. Why are you here?" 

Murderface smiled at him, the left corner of his mouth lifting slightly. There was sadness but hope in his eyes instead of the usual anger and depression. This spirit wasn't as energetic as the Ghost of Christmas Present or as ominous and threatening as the Ghost of Christmas Future. He had no sarcastic bite to him like the Ghost of Christmas Past. 

He simply looked like he carried the world's weight on his shoulders like some sort of Christmas Atlas. 

"...Spirit. Who are you?" Charles finally asked quietly, wiping his tears from his face. How much longer would he continued to be tortured? What else did the spirits have planned for him? 

The spirit helped him to his feet. "I am a form of Christmas Future. I am called the Ghost of Christmas Alternate, of Christmases Yet To Come. It seems that I am still needed to show you something." He placed a gentle hand to Charles' back. "I am here as a last resort. One last chance, Offdensen. Then the choice will be left to you." 

Charles furrowed his brow. "What? That doesn't make any sense. Didn't you make me go through this hell to prove I'm a shitty person? Why offer me a chance to see alternate routes?" 

The Ghost didn't reply, only gave him another fond smile. The world around them rippled and they faded from Christmas Future. 

\---------------------------------

They reappeared and Charles dry heaved. He still wasn't used to the warping despite using its travel for a good chunk of the early morning. 

He adjusted his glasses. They were standing in the snow in front of an apartment building. 

Akita's apartment building. 

"spirit, what is this?!" He hissed, taking a step back as if the building had struck him. 

The Ghost motioned for him to keep quiet. "We are in a timeline where you took too long to change your ways. We had advised you as part of our jobs but we overloaded you. It took you years and many sessions of therapy to finally figure out what you're missing." He pointed to a bundled figure trudging through the ankle deep snow towards the building. "There you are." 

The Alternate Charles stopped just shy of the entrance and looked up, searching. The light in Akita's apartment was on and the man took a deep inhale before walking in. 

Murderface grabbed his hand as they followed the snowy footprints of Alternate Charles. The man had stomped up the stairs, going slowly as if he was dreading whatever awaited him at the top of the stairs. 

"Spirit, this surely can't work. Akita, I'm fairly certain and please correct me if I'm wrong, hates me." Charles muttered when his alternate self stopped in front of the wine red painted door. His fist hovered over the door, hesitating before knocking twice. 

Akita opened the door. He was older, streaks of silver camouflaged in the platinum blonde curls. He had more wrinkles around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. The wrinkles between his eyebrows deepened as he frowned at his visitor. 

Charles couldn't make out what they were saying but Akita's defensive stance leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed spoke volumes. 

it was abundantly clear that Alternate Charles wasn't welcomed. 

Alternate Charles took off his thick winter cap. He was going gray around his temples. He had more wrinkles as well, especially his forehead from frowning often. Deep purple bags rimmed his eyes and overall, he looked like shit. What caught Current Charles off guard was the look of vulnerability that he hadn't shown since childhood. He was completely open, splaying his emotions out for Akita to see. He was begging, reaching out to grab one of Akita's hands in his. 

Akita wrenched his hand back and slammed the door in his face. Alternate Charles was crestfallen, using the wall for support with tears in his eyes. 

Current Charles wasn't faring much better. He closed his watery eyes, jaw tense as he fought the urge to cry again over a man who clearly didn't feel the same anymore. "...Spirit, why do you show me this? Do you all find delight in tormenting me?!" He growled, low as his defenses raised higher than before at seeing himself rejected once again. He fought hard to keep the tears contained but lost as fat tears rolled down his face. He didn't bother to wipe away the trails. 

Murderface tilted his head before grabbing Charles' hand. They stepped through the wall into Alternate Akita's apartment. The older Akita was on the floor, forehead pressed against his knees as he cried into his hands. 

An old corgi padded up to him, wagging its stumped tail hopefully as it pressed its little heart shaped nose to Akita's leg. Akita quickly enveloped the dog in a tight hug as his tears wet the tan fur. He was whispering something into the dog's ear that Charles couldn't catch as he rocked the dog. 

"You forget, your consequences torment others too. Your overthinking can lead you to hurt your loved ones." 

Charles looked away from the older man and his dog. "What of it? It has also kept them safe." 

Murderface only rolled his eyes before warping them away. 

\---------------------

They landed in the middle of a bustling Christmas party. 

Brian and Abigail were chatting amicably in the corner while Carmen and a teenaged Jourdan helped themselves to the spread on the grand oak table. Akita stepped out of the kitchen with a tray of cocktails balanced on the palm of his hand. A single plastic green cup stood out among the glasses like there was a kid at the party. 

Charles' eyes followed him as he walked over to the couch where an older Daemon was watching those stop motion Rankin and Bass Christmas shorts, flanked on either side by two tall blondes. Akita's dad had a protective arm around the boy while he watched, letting the child cuddle his side. He had on a small smile, giving Daemon more attention than Rudolph. His wife watched both of them with an impassive face but fondness in her blue eyes. 

Charles could understand why his grandnephew would cling to the Kujakissa parents. 

Akita passed the cup to Daemon who smiled up at him before receiving a kiss on the forehead. He passed a drink to his parents before moving on. Abby and Brian took a cup and Brian said something that was probably either a pick up line or an innuendo by the over exaggerated wink and Abigail's rolling eyes. Carmen took hers graciously from the platter on her way to her wife. Jourdan tried to sneak one but the blonde was too fast and (at the moment) too tall. Jourdan pouted and Akita grinned, laughing before moving on. 

That only left one other person. 

Akita walked up the stairs to the second floor, slowing down when he reached a closed door. He knocked twice before opening the door. 

A new alternate Charles opened the door, the same age as Current Charles. He gave Akita a weary smile, covering the receiver with his hand before pressing a kiss to his cheek. He mouthed thank you as he took the glass and Akita smiled at him.

A genuine smile. Not the tense, polite smile Current Akita had given him at the hospital. 

Current Charles Was floored. Well, past floored. He couldn't believe his eyes. 

This was a future where he was together again with Akita and a small bloom of hope was planted in his heart. It would be difficult, no doubt. He had put Akita through a lot and he doubted - no. He knew it was going to be a very long road to forgiveness. 

But it would be worth all of it, even more than worth it. 

He didn't dare look over to Murderface. "There's still a chance? I haven't completely fucked everything up?" He asked quietly. 

Murderface hummed thoughtfully before shrugging. "There's a chance for everything. There's still a chance that he tells you to go to hell instead. Or that he decks you in the face. He might listen. He might not." He put his hands into his pockets before glancing at Charles. He smiled softly to the ground. 

"Well, my time is up." He smiled at Charles one last time as he started to fade. Charles turned to him, slightly panicked. "Wait, Spirit!" 

Murderface only shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. The Future moves on and so must I." 

"Spirit, you can't! Not yet!" 

\-------------------------

Charles reached out to grab Murderface but instead tumbled onto the floor of his office. Sun was streaming through the windows as he got onto his feet, looking around wildly. "...It's morning." He laughed half hysterically, running his hands through his hair. "It's morning!" 

He dove for his phone. The battery was at 40% but it was enough for what he needed. 

\--------------------------

Charles rushed through the halls of the hospital, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. He traded his suit for a red sweater with a Santa Claus pattern and a pair of well worn slacks. 

He hadn't been in something casual since he was in his twenties. 

He skidded to a halt in front of the nurse's station, startling the young man behind the desk. Charles panted and took a deep breath. "Is..." He coughed. "Is Nurse Kujakissa still here?" 

The young man nodded stiffly. "D-Do you have business with him?" Charles nodded wildly. "Please." 

The nurse left, eyeing him weirdly as he bounced from foot to foot. Charles checked the time obsessively until he heard the clicking of heels. 

Charles grinned widely at Akita who walked up to him cautiously. "Akita!" He pulled the stiff blonde into a tight hug. "...Did you hit your head? Are you here because you have a head trauma?" 

Charles let him go and laughed loudly. "Nothing like that. I did some...soul searching last night, I suppose. I've been doing some thinking and I need to apologize to you." 

Akita raised his eyebrow. "You know, I think Dr. Elliot is available." 

Charles rolled his eyes fondly. "I don't need a doctor, Akita. I would like, however, to invite you to a Christmas party." 

"A Christmas party? Charles. I -" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"I'm not expecting anything, Akita. I just... I want a chance to start over. If you don't want to, I won't force you into it." 

Akita sighed again, rubbing his face. He ran a hand through his hair. "So...you want to start over despite the fact that it's been years, right? Good God, Charles. I finally saw you yesterday since we broke up." 

"And I was an ass about it. I was bitter and angry and you had every right to leave me. I know this sounds ridiculous and cliché, but I've had a change of heart. I don't expect you to tell me yes. I just want to invite you to a Christmas party as a friend." 

Akita narrowed his eyes at him and Charles started to sweat. Objectively, he knew he sounded like a mad man. The chance he said yes would be slim as all hell. 

"...You know I'm at work right?" Charles nodded and Akita sighed. "Tell me the time and place. If my shift is over before the party ends, I'll come." 

Charles smiled softly at him. "I'll take it." 

\---------------------------

The party was in full swing in his apartment. He never had the heart to get rid of it after Akita left and he was glad he didn't. He had to do a deep clean and there were more air fresheners than people and the windows were open despite the chilly air. 

Abigail and Carmen were chatting with Clara, wine glasses in their hands. Brian and Kent were talking quietly in the corner, chuckling to one another. Suzanne was sitting by the table and Charles swung by to give her a kiss on the cheek. 

"I Have to say, I don't understand why you decided to invite us all to a party...but I'm glad." She whispered to him as she squeezed his hand tightly. He grinned at her. "Change of heart, I suppose."

He grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge and a plate of cookies to take over to where Daemon was hiding in his cupboard. The boy had slid in the moment Charles had opened it and he didn't have the heart to kick him out. He knocked twice on the door and it was hesitantly opened. Daemon's green eye peered up at him. Charles offered up the cookie plate and juice bottle. He could see the gears turning in the younger boy's head before hesitantly opening the door. The food and drink were out of his hands before he could blink and the door slammed shut again. 

He chuckled softly but was distracted by the doorbell. His heart soared as he rushed over to the door. 

Akita shifted in place, holding out a bottle of bourbon for Charles. "Hey... Merry Christmas, Charles." 

Charles grinned and stepped aside to let him in. "Merry Christmas, Akita."

**Author's Note:**

> A long one to be sure


End file.
